


Strigimentum

by CGotAnAccount



Series: The ADVENTure Continues! [30]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: "Human" Rituals, Coran is Enthusiastic, Keith is grumpy, M/M, SHEITH - Freeform, Shenanigans, Shiro is a good sport
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:14:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28422267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CGotAnAccount/pseuds/CGotAnAccount
Summary: “How's it going back there?”“Marvelous!” Coran chuckles as he takes a particularly long pull all the way down Shiro's lower back. “Plenty of sample to work with – enough to synthesize and then some left over from the source... we'll be able to test the historical accuracies of the human practice for sure with this bounty.”“That's... good?” Shiro shakes his head, deciding it's best not to be too curious about the things Coran gets up to in his spare time. “You'll have to let me know how the whole thing goes.”
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Series: The ADVENTure Continues! [30]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2034982
Comments: 32
Kudos: 75





	Strigimentum

**Author's Note:**

> ADVENTure day 30!

Coran's request hadn't seemed out of character when he first approached Shiro. Truth be told he was only mostly listening, still occupied by the weights hovering over his face as the man flailed and crowed and pirouetted about, talking about some experiments he wanted to try with Shiro's help. Normally he would guess that this whole thing would be Pidge's forte, but Coran had been insistent that Shiro was really the man he needed.

And he does hate to disappoint a teammate...

“Alright,” he grunts as he re-racks the weight and sits up, wiping his hands on his shorts before looking up at the overly excited Altean, “what am I supposed to be doing again?”

“Hardly a thing, my boy!” Coran assures him as he steps closer with something that looks suspiciously like a butter knife from the mess hall and one of Matt's test tubes. “I just need to collect some samples for a project.”

The sudden tension in his muscles is involuntary as memory of the last time someone wanted samples from him comes to mind – but it's not like Coran is going to hurt him, and certainly not with those tools. So he wills himself to relax, offering out an arm for whatever it is that Coran needs to do.

“You're not doing any bloodletting with that knife, are you?” Shiro jokes, but also makes a mental note to make sure the Alteans know about syringes and sterile medical procedures if Coran is going around asking people for samples.

“Not at all!” Coran ignores the arm entirely and swoops up behind him, the blunt edge of his scraping-tool poised at his bare back. “Just a little dead tissue, that's all... are you ready?”

“Ah, alright.” Shiro nods and shrugs, rolling his shoulders forward to give Coran better access. “Sure, I guess, have at it.”

“That's the spirit!”

The first scrape is barely a tickle, probably whisking away more sweat than anything else into that little jar, but Coran seems particularly pleased with the results and goes back for several more passes. It almost feels kinda like someone is trying to comb his non-existent back hair, or maybe giving a particularly good exfoliating scrub... it's sorta nice.

Except for the 'hrmmming' coming from behind him with every subsequent stroke of the scraper.

“How's it going back there?”

“Marvelous!” Coran chuckles as he takes a particularly long pull all the way down Shiro's lower back. “Plenty of sample to work with – enough to synthesize and then some left over from the source... we'll be able to test the historical accuracies of the human practice for sure with this bounty.”

“That's... good?” Shiro shakes his head, deciding it's best not to be too curious about the things Coran gets up to in his spare time. “You'll have to let me know how the whole thing goes.”

“Of course, lad.” Coran claps him on the shoulder before wedging a stopper in his glass bottle – which looks absolutely disgusting. “If you're up for it I might come pester you for more.”

“Did that come from my _skin_?” Shiro asks, vaguely horrified by the yellowy-white gloop that must be a combination of his skin, sweat, and whatever gym grime gets stuck in his lotion.

“One hundred percent pure Black Paladin strigimentum,” Coran confirms like a proud parent, “only the finest for our research!”

Suddenly Shiro is far less curious about the results.

“That's... great Coran.” He looks away from the bottle with a grimace. “I guess I don't mind if you need more... just, maybe don't show me?”

“Modest as always, number one!” Coran grins at him, twirling his mustache with his free hand. Shiro really hopes it's not the hand that was just scraping off his back goo. “Anywho, I'll be off – these samples won't synthesize themselves after all!”

Thoroughly bewildered by the whole exchange, Shiro can only shrug and go back to lifting... at least it's not like Coran can do anything _too_ bad with his gym slime.

Keith's day started great, all wrapped up in a set of sheets that smell like his mate, snuggling up against the pillow that Shiro always tucks into his arms when he has to leave for his first meeting. It's his favorite thing in the whole world, being surrounded by the scent of safety and home and love. He'd lounge here all day if he could, just rolling around until Shiro gets back, knowing that the glorious man is all his...

Unfortunately, he's got shit to do that requires both pants and his physical presence somewhere that isn't a bed. Which is kinda bullshit considering he helped save the universe and all that, he should at least get a free pass on wandering around in one of Shiro's oversized sweatshirts and nothing else.

But no, Kolivan is a stickler for uniforms, probably because he doesn't want anyone to realize that he and Antok actually look like giant furry chinchillas underneath all that intimidating space-spandex. One of these days he's gonna take his chances and show up in a bathrobe and slippers, daring him to say something to the Leader of Voltron... he's not afraid to flex his title if it means he gets to cuddle in Shiro's scent all day.

And really, who's gonna stop him? Some baby cadet who can rattle off the exact rule that says he has to wear pants? Iverson and his one eyeball? Kolivan whose chinchilla fur can be exposed to the world with one mistakenly broadcast vacation photo?

Really, the only person who would probably have a chance at stopping him is Shiro, who very likely wouldn't want anyone else looking at his legs in the bathrobe... ugh.

He rolls out of bed and puts on the damn pants, grumbling the entire time.

They still can't make him shower before this stupid meeting.

Although... maybe he should have.

He's only made it halfway to the conference room and the smell of his mate is still overpowering – the delicious musk that he leaves all over Keith when they snuggle, the scent of his sweat, his love... it's a little embarrassing actually, he knew they'd had a good romp last night, but it's never clung to him quite so potently before. Everyone in this meeting with even a drop of Galra blood in them is going to know exactly what he's been up to.

Oh well.

Except, when the door to the meeting room slides open the smell only gets worse, which makes absolutely no sense because Shiro isn't even in this meeting.

Keith narrows his eyes, assessing the attendees as he stalks to his seat, but the smell doesn't abate one bit. It's almost like half the people in the room had... _no._

Shiro would never.

…

But it _reeks_ of his mate. Not just the room, but the people in it.

And Regris is giving him that shit-eating grin from across the table, cause he knows that Keith can't very well jump the thing and wring his skinny neck with his own tail with everyone else here.

“ _What,_ ” he settles for growling, baring his teeth on the word as Regris wiggles his eyebrows and bares his neck.

“Oh, nothing...” More wiggling, more smirking. “Just enjoying my new cologne.”

“I told you this would end poorly,” Antok rumbles from behind his mask, bringing one huge hand up to push the back of Regris' head toward the table. “Don't antagonize the kit.”

“What is he talking about?” Keith asks, swiveling his chair to scowl at Kolivan, “Why does it smell like Shiro in here? Where is he?”

“Kit...” Kolivan sighs and turns his glare down the table full of his unruly children. “They're only foolish, don't punish them too harshly-”

“Punish them for what?” He's up and out of his chair in a heartbeat, one hand on the hilt of his knife where it rests at the small of his back. “ _What did you do to him?_ ”

Regris scoots his chair back fast enough that he runs over his own tail with a yelp. “We didn't do anything!”

“Where is he!”

“Kit, sit down.” Kolivan slaps a hand to the podium as he brings the other up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Your mate is fine... the Alteans don't quite understand the importance of scent as we do-”

“What are you talking about?” Keith shakes his head, not quite willing to let go of his knife until he's absolutely sure no one deserves to be stabbed. “What does that have to do with Shiro?”

Ulaz lets out a gusting sigh across the table, rubbing a hand over his face. “I told him this was a bad idea.”

“Told who?”

“Coran. He was in the lab synthesizing a sample he kept calling 'strigimentum', he said it was an ancient human practice.” Ulaz shakes his head with a disgusted look. “I'm fairly certain it was no more than your mate's sweat and dead skin... human customs are barbaric.”

“That's not a human custom,” Keith grunts, finally releasing his blade to sink back into his chair and bury his hands in his hair, “I don't know what he thinks he's doing, but we don't... we don't collect people's skin. That's fucked up... and that still doesn't explain the smell.”

Thace hums, thoughtful and diplomatic as ever as he extends a hand in placation. “I believe he was making cologne, as Regris said... it seemed to be a quest of flattery. It would be a great honor to smell like a warrior as strong and virile as the black paladin.”

“He's not some _cologne_ ,” Keith seethes, eyes snapping to Thace in disbelief, “he's my _mate._ ”

“Kit. Calm yourself.”

The barked order from Kolivan sets his teeth on edge, and Keith barely resists the urge to stalk out of the room. It doesn't help that half the junior blades are now trying to not-so-subtly cover up their own scent glands where they've obviously smeared the oil made from _his_ mate. It's by all rights a challenge to his claim – they're lucky he doesn't make each and every one of them back it up in single combat until they don't smell like anything but fear and urine.

“I'm going to find Shiro,” he grunts instead, daring Kolivan to stop him as he stands again. “You all _stink._ ”

The collective exhalation of relief as he leaves the room would be funny under any other circumstance, but he can't be anything but annoyed. The hallway stinks too, filled with green cadets still wet behind the ears, smeared in his mate's smell like it might help them be less pathetic in the sims. As if Shiro was some lucky charm that they can just take for themselves.

He's practically boiling over by the time he gets to Shiro's office, stalking halfway across the room before Shiro has even looked up from his datapad.

“Hey, baby! What's- uh- Kei-?”

“ _Mine._ ” Keith cuts him off, shoving the chair back roughly as he crawls into Shiro's lap and rubs himself all over his neck. Everyone else might smell like Shiro... but Shiro only smells like _him._ “Mine, MINE.”

“Oookay then,” Shiro huffs, a little strangled as he cranes his neck to let Keith go to town on it. “Is this another Galra thing?”

“They stink like you,” Keith grumbles into his skin, licking over it until it's wet and red. “Everyone stinks like you and I _hate_ it.”

“Come again?” A pair of hands curl gently around Keith's shoulders, pulling him back enough for Shiro to cock an eyebrow at him. “Who stinks, me?”

“No.” Keith presses back against his grip, trying ineffectually to return to his ministrations. “Everyone wearing that stupid... striga... straggle... that stupid cologne.”

“What cologne?” Shiro looks more confused than ever as he holds Keith in place. “I don't even wear cologne.”

“I _know_.” It's one of the things Keith can't abide by, his mate needs to smell like the two of them, and that's it. “Coran's... thing. Whatever he did. Ulaz said it was like sweat, and gross... and now everyone smells like you.”

The last few words come out closer to a pathetic mewl as he slumps in Shiro's hold. He's sick of everyone smelling like Shiro. The whole world is a lie.

“Aww, sweetheart...” Shiro gathers him in close, tucking him under his chin until all Keith can smell is the two of them. “I'm sorry... I didn't realize that's what he was doing with it.”

“With what.” Keith mutters into his shoulder like a petulant kit.

“He uh... I don't really know actually.” Shiro shrugs, jostling him just a touch. “He kinda scraped off my back sweat at the gym, it was kinda gross to be honest... but he said it was for research.”

“Well his research _sucks._ ” Shiro tries very hard not to laugh at him, but Keith can feel his chest shaking. He still appreciates the effort. “Go tell him to stop making your sweat juice.”

“Okay, baby.” A soothing hand rubs up and down his back as Shiro's other one floats off to get the datapad again. “I'll let him know, okay? No more cologne.”

“And put everyone who bought some in the brig.”

“...”

“Or hose them down or something.”

“...Keith.”

“I'm being reasonable, they stink!”

Shiro huffs a laugh and arches an eyebrow, grinning down at his grouchy bundle. “Does that mean I stink too?”

Keith glares at him and goes back to his licking. He doesn't have to deal with this.

“Okay, there.” Shiro clicks his tongue and sets the pad back down, wrapping his other arm around Keith's back. “Message sent, all better.”

“We're staying in bed tomorrow,” Keith huffs through a swipe of his tongue against Shiro's cheek. “Make Atlas seal the room.”

“We'd suffocate?”

“Don't care.”

“... okay sweetheart, one day of suffocation coming right up,” Shiro sighs, picking his datapad back up to clear their schedules.

Keith nods, pleased for the first time since rolling out of bed.

Now he _definitely_ won't have to put on pants.


End file.
